


Bryce’s  Doppelganger

by Mums_the_Word



Series: Strange Encounters [1]
Category: Chuck (TV), White Collar
Genre: Embedded Tracking Chip, Gen, Greek Fortress, Hidden Microdot, Stolen Titian Painting, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: Chuck Bartowski, a reluctant young spy, comes face to face with Neal Caffrey, a very competent and clever thief. That encounter forges an unlikely partnership in a very dangerous mission to retrieve a stolen painting. Not everybody on Team Bartowski is comfortable trusting a con man, especially skeptical Casey. But Chuck is convinced Neal is a good person.
Relationships: Chuck Bartowski & Bryce Larkin, Chuck Bartowski & John Casey, Chuck Bartowski & Neal Caffrey, Chuck Bartowski & Sarah Walker, Neal Caffrey & Alex Hunter, Neal Caffrey & Kate Moreau
Series: Strange Encounters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831561
Comments: 20
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> During the quarantine, I found myself watching old favorites. Even though both “Chuck” and “White Collar” ended years ago, I hope there are still fans out there who may enjoy this story.

Chuck Bartowski had just been summoned by General Beckman to Castle, the clandestine hideaway attached to the _Buy More_ Store in Burbank, California. With an untucked white shirt, loosely dangling tie, ID badge, and pocket protector in place, he quickly used the secret access panel to meander his way to a room fully locked and loaded with high tech gadgets and other CIA spy tools. Sarah Walker, his wishful notion of a girlfriend, and Major John Casey were already there. Both seemed expectant as they gazed at a screen that showed Beckman’s face looking serious and impatient. It seemed obvious that their dour-faced and stern handler wouldn’t explain a mission to her operatives until the most important member of the team was front and center. Chuck was, indeed, the lynchpin for any covert op since he was the spy organization’s secret weapon. Chuck Bartowski had unwittingly been the recipient of the ultimate warhead—the _“Intersect”_ implanted in his brain by an old college roommate from Stanford.

Beautiful, blond Sarah gazed at Chuck fondly, her devotion quite obvious. Against all caveats in the spy world, she found herself falling in love with a tall, naïve guy with a very pure soul. Jaded and tough John Casey could see the handwriting on the wall and just gnashed his teeth and growled in frustration. While others saw Bartowski as an asset, Casey viewed the young nerd as a liability. Intersect or not, he couldn’t always be trusted to carry out the hard stuff like killing people.

Beckman finally looked animated and was more forthcoming, but actually not all that informative. Her briefing had some details, but not enough for the trio to feel as if they had gotten the total picture. “Our counterparts in New York have detained a person of interest in an ongoing scenario they have been monitoring, but I’ll get back to that individual in a minute,” she began. “As background, I can tell you that our international compatriots in Prague have had a wealthy entrepreneur in their sights for months because they believe he is a conduit between a terrorist cell and a rogue thinktank of geniuses. Some very clever eggheads seem to have devised a microchip that could be used to cause malicious mayhem throughout the world. We don’t know what the ultimate objective could be or where it could be used. Chatter tells us that it is capable of dire things like toppling worldwide economies, our military, or even the space program. At this time, we can’t pin down its complete capabilities, but, as you can imagine, whatever the agenda, it doesn’t bode well and could be catastrophic.”

Chuck thought he knew where this was going, so he preempted his handler. “So, General, do you want the team and I to go to Prague to recover that microchip?”

Beckman scowled at the interruption. “No, Mr. Bartowski, that won’t be necessary. The term ‘microchip’ is actually a misnomer; it’s really a tiny microdot that has already left that country. It was cleverly embedded into the frame of a very old and expensive painting—a masterpiece by Titian that was put up for auction in Europe. Since the bidding was done anonymously via phone, we aren’t sure who the buyer was, but it was probably all prearranged between our Czech entrepreneur and another evil person. All we know is the painting was on its way to New York when it mysteriously disappeared. Unfortunately, the wealthy middleman isn’t talking, however, we do have someone in our custody who may have knowledge of the theft. Actually, he could even be the person responsible for stealing it. With the right incentives, he may be willing to help you recover the painting so you can extract the microdot.”

“I believe we can provide those incentives, General,” Casey smiled evilly as he cracked his knuckles.

“Not exactly what I had in mind, Major, at least not yet,” Beckman grimaced. “Chuck, I want you to go to New York City and have a face-to-face encounter with this suspected thief, and then you must contact me immediately. I am very interested in your reaction after the sit-down takes place.”

Beckman seemed enigmatic, and then even more so when she added, “Major Casey, you’ll accompany our asset, but Agent Walker, you are to sit this one out.”

“But General,” Sarah immediately objected, “I am an integral part of this team and I have to protect Chuck.”

Beckman sighed. “Agent Walker, you are a good operative, but you may have vulnerabilities in this instance. And, you, Casey, may also have issues, but I trust you can act professionally and keep them in check. Do I make myself clean, Major?”

“Crystal, General,” Casey answered with a growl.

“Good. We have a private Lear jet on standby, so get your go-bags and hustle. And Chuck, no communication with Agent Walker until you return to California for a debriefing,” the imperious woman decreed as her image flashed off the monitor.

Chuck looked at a concerned Sarah. “So, an impromptu little conversation 3,000 miles to the east,” he said tentatively. “How dangerous could that be? Don’t worry, Sarah. If Casey’s going along for the ride, I’ll be safe.”

“Be careful, Chuck. This all seems rather bizarre and a little lacking in clarification,” she answered with a frown.

~~~~~~~~~~

But Chuck knew Sarah was right. It did all seem too cloak and dagger, even for Beckman who liked to be in charge and have her minions scurrying in abject blind obedience. The puzzled man with an Intersect in his head fought the urge to take out his phone and call his potential girlfriend during the long cross country flight just for moral support. It wasn’t that Chuck was afraid that he couldn’t handle danger. The embedded skills in his brain would manifest themselves if necessary and enable him to kick ass when the situation called for it. But tonight, he just wanted to hear Sarah’s voice. To be honest, maybe he had become too emotionally dependent on her. Maybe Beckman saw that as a liability and was forcing him to man up and be responsible for his own wellbeing. So, while Casey snored with his head tilted back on the padded seat, Chuck—well, Chuck did enough worrying for both himself and Sarah.

The private jet touched down at Teterboro airport later that day, and, as per instructions, Chuck and Casey made their way to Queens. When X marks the spot proved to be a small combination liquor and tobacco store called “Bottles and Butts,” Casey grimaced. “Well, I suppose this is as unpretentious as it gets.”

“Right, it’s certainly no _Buy More_ ,” Chuck agreed.

“Yeah, you may even get carded in this joint,” Casey taunted.

Chuck endured the verbal mocking; it wasn’t like it was a new thing with Casey. The former NSA operative came with the territory if Chuck wanted to keep his cover intact and Sarah by his side. The two men casually entered the small establishment and looked around. They were the only customers, so Chuck sauntered up to the cash register, grabbed a packet of Slim Jims jerky from a display, and plunked it down on the counter. He intended to pay with a credit card, the holder’s name being Charles Carmichael. When the swarthy clerk looked up, he murmured, “You don’t need to sign. A thumbprint will do,” he added as a new LCD screen coalesced on the apparatus. When his identity had been verified electronically, the clerk next nodded at Casey, who mimicked the action.

“Follow me,” the proprietor commanded as he led them back through the aisles to a steel door in the rear of the store. He then placed the palm of his own hand on a plate in the wall and the door clicked open. “We sell rare wine as well as rotgut and cancer sticks in this place. There’s a very unusual vintage down in the cellar that we keep under lock and key. Why don’t you take a look for yourselves,” he said quietly.

Chuck and Casey descended a set of cement steps and found themselves in a sort of tunnel that had rusted railroad tracks stretching into the darkness. “Probably an old defunct subway spur. Pretty clever,” Casey remarked. “C’mon, numbnuts, let’s see where they lead.”

As they made their way along the underground passage, lights flickered on to provide illumination until they came to a dead end. At that little cul-de-sac was a square enclosure, dimly lit, made out of thick plexiglass. An armed guard in fatigues stood at attention just outside of the large box-like space and another was inside hovering behind a dark-haired man seated at a table with one wrist shackled to a steel ring. Right now, the captive’s face was hidden because he was resting his head on his folded arms. When the sentry saw Chuck and Casey, he used the butt of his M16 to viciously jab the prisoner in the back. A weary man lifted his head and stared at the two new visitors.

Chuck drew in a horrified breath. “Bryce?” he murmured in disbelief.

Casey was also dumbfounded. “Damn! How many times do I have to shoot that little fucker so that he stays dead?”

Chuck tore his eyes away from the vision of his former college roommate, the one responsible for sending him the Intersect. Bryce was a challenging riddle—once he had been a valued friend, but he had also been responsible for ending Chuck’s chance at success by getting him expelled from school for cheating. Most upsetting of all, however, was the fact that this handsome man had once charmed Jill, Chuck’s first girlfriend, as well as managing to become Sarah Walker’s lover in a new incarnation. And let’s not forget that he could possibly be a traitor to his country.

Chuck suddenly became aware of Casey’s menacing presence. “Remember what General Beckman said, Buddy—professionalism while on the job. We need to talk to Bryce, not shoot, garrote, or break his neck. If he has something the CIA needs, that let’s proceed with finesse not fists.”

The sentry outside the enclosure punched in a few numbers on a touchpad and the transparent door retracted. The interior guard stepped out into the hall and allowed the prisoner and the new interrogators their privacy as the door slid shut again. The restrained young man looked from one to the other and quirked an impudent smile. “I guess you two are the new reinforcements.”

“We’re your worst nightmare, Larkin,” Casey snarled.

The beleaguered man sighed deeply. “I keep telling all of you people that you’ve got the wrong guy. I’m not this Larkin fellow. My name is Nick Halden, and I work for a very influential businessman named Vincent Adler right here in New York. I’m sure he’ll vouch for my identity if you’ll just ask him.”

At the mention of Vincent Adler’s name, Chuck experienced that now familiar neural sensation of images flooding through his brain like a flipbook on steroids. Ghost depictions of the Nazi regime during WWII, a submarine, Ponzi schemes, Argentina, a stolen Rafael painting of St. George and the Dragon, the Louvre, Amalienborg Palace in Denmark, a music box, and then that missing Titian painting. Dotted through the swirling montage were various names: Danny Brooks, Neal Bennett, George Danvary, Steve Tabernacle, Victor Moreau, James Bonds, and Neal Caffrey. Nowhere in that litany was there a Bryce Larkin.

When he regained his breath, Chuck couldn’t help himself. He blurted out, “Bryce, or whoever you are, Vincent Adler is one bad dude, Buddy. You need to keep your distance because it won’t end well for you.”

Casey threw up his hands in frustration and rolled his eyes. “I know you flashed, you moron,” he grumbled. “You only flash when there’s a bad guy in the vicinity, so what’s the need for all that fabled finesse? We’re supposed to interrogate Larkin to get the information we need, not coddle him! For somebody who’s supposed to be so smart, sometimes you’re just plain dumb.”

“This isn’t Bryce,” Chuck finally clued Casey in, even though his own eyes were telling him that it was.

“Of course it is,” Casey disagreed. “And I ought to know. I shot him point blank in the chest! When we get what we need out of this slimeball, I’m going to do it again, maybe even twice, just to make sure this time.”

The prisoner's eyes were darting between these two strangers. “Now let’s not be too hasty,” he said quickly.

“Look, Nick, or whoever you really are,” Chuck tried again after giving Casey a glare, “you look uncannily like someone I used to know. Does the name, Bryce Larkin, mean anything to you? How about Stanford or strange computer downloads? I mean, can you even speak or understand Klingon?”

“Nope, sorry on all counts,” was the quick answer.

“How about a girl name Jill, or maybe one named Sarah,” Chucked fairly squeaked out those words.

“Still drawing a blank,” the prisoner responded.

“Maybe you have a twin brother or a look-alike cousin?” Chuck pushed with hope in his brown eyes.

“Sorry, but not one of those things rings a bell. I’m an only child and I don’t have any cousins, at least to my knowledge,” the dark-haired man insisted.

“Of course he’s deny everything. It’s what a traitorous bastard would do if he was caught,” Casey snorted at this ridiculous line of questioning. “Maybe it’s time I got a little more persuasive.”

The trapped man gave Chuck’s associate a dark glance before returning his attention to Chuck. “Maybe you can tell that big ape standing beside you to stand down. I’m not easily intimidated, so he’s wasting his time with the knuckle-dragging theatrics.”

That didn’t sit well with Casey, and he suddenly lashed out with his fist and clocked the impudent suspect on the jaw causing a line of blood to trickle down his chin.

“Casey, what didn’t you understand about being professional?” Chuck sputtered in an appalled tone. “What happened to finesse not fists?”

“That was your stupid idea, not mine,” the Major snarled. “What’s the matter, sissy boy? Does a little blood freak you out. Well, man up. You’re in the big leagues now and it ain’t always pretty.”

“Well, I’ve got an even better idea,” Chuck insisted. “I’m tired because I didn’t sleep during that long flight—nope, not one wink. Maybe going through all those time zones messed with your biorhythms, too, and it’s made you a bit cranky. So, let’s do this in the morning, shall we?”

“Let’s not,” Casey said obstinately.

“Maybe we should let the General decide,” Chuck said obliquely, not allowing Beckman’s identity to escape his lips. A good spy was circumspect and discrete, right?

Casey shook his head and glowered. “Just like a little girl to run and tattle.”

“I’ll do it,” Chuck threatened.

“Of course you would,” Chuck’s angry sidekick grunted. “Well, first thing tomorrow, 0600 hours, it’s gonna get down and dirty, whether you like it or not.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chuck and Casey were escorted to separate quarters that were rather spartan in nature. The tiny cinder block bunkers each had a small bed, a washstand, and a toilet. Of course, there were no windows and the walls were painted a battleship gray with not a picture in sight. Chuck was tired, but he found he couldn’t sleep. The shock of seeing a Bryce doppelganger had been overwhelming, as had the revelations that surged through his mind after he had flashed. Truthfully, he couldn’t seem to make much sense out of anything that he had encountered since he had landed in New York. He desperately wanted to call Sarah to ask for her advice. He was even willing to risk General Beckman’s wrath by disobeying her direct order. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he had ignored protocol. How often had he not stayed in the car or in the van or anywhere he was supposed to stay? Then he had second thoughts. Maybe Casey was right. He should stop relying on Sarah for moral support. It was time to take off the training wheels and act like a real asset.

With that lofty objective in mind, Chuck wandered out of his little room and managed to find a man in camouflage fatigues. “I want to talk to the prisoner,” he said calmly to the soldier, trying not to let his voice go falsetto. The military man gave him a quizzical stare but then turned on his heel and threw a curt, “Follow me,” over his shoulder. Chuck was amazed that he didn’t have to cajole or plead or even grovel to get his way. Maybe he had developed some kind of reputation in the spy world. Thank you, General Diane Beckman!

It was a short trip down the catacomb-like tunnels before he and his escort stopped at a steel door carved into the wall. There was a small aperture at the top, so Chuck noted there was a light ablaze inside the chamber. When the guard opened the door with his key, Chuck saw that the dungeon held the prisoner stretched out on a cot bolted to the floor. This time, the dark-haired man had a length of chain around one ankle that was anchored to a ring on that floor. _Not Bryce_ immediately sat up and turned rigidly. When he saw his tall, lanky guest, he looked wary. It was at that second that the sentry chose to slam the door shut with a clank, making Chuck jump and cringe a little. Finally, the anxious wanna-be spy took a deep breath and whispered, “Hello, again,” followed by a little finger wiggle.

When the prisoner remained silent, Chuck gazed around the small cell that held only the cot. “Wow, I thought my accommodations were minimalistic, but at least I had a commode. I mean, not allowing a man the basic necessities is harsh.”

Chuck knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t help himself. He was nervous and he knew his insecurity showed. “Look, I’m sorry to interrupt your sleep in the middle of the night, but I thought we could talk, one on one, with a little privacy.” When he still got no response, he continued to babble. “I guess, if you’ve been here awhile with the lights constantly on, you might have lost any concept of time. It’s 11 pm,” he said as he glanced quickly at his watch. “Well, that’s West Coast time. I guess that makes it 2 am in the morning here in New York.”

“What do you want?” the imprisoned man finally asked tiredly.

“It’s like I said; I just want to talk,” Chuck quickly assured him. “I don’t mean you any harm, I promise.”

“So, are you trying to be the sympathetic one in the good cop/bad cop routine?” the other man said sarcastically.

“No, no—I’m not a cop!” Chuck objected.

“I know you’re not,” was the surprising response. “If you or anybody else around here was a cop or a Fed, I would have been read my rights and allowed a phone call to a lawyer. Since that didn’t happen, I think something else is in play.”

“Like what?” Chuck pushed with his eyes big and round.

The prisoner shrugged. “Well, considering the uniforms and the military vibe, I’m thinking maybe I’m some kind of prisoner of war and should be reviewing my rights under the terms of the Geneva Convention.”

“Well, it could be a matter of national security,” Chuck admitted before grimacing and biting his bottom lip in mortification. Why couldn’t he be more discrete and act like a crafty spy? Loose lips sunk ships, right?

The imprisoned captive suddenly seemed intrigued. “So, who has a hard on for me? Is it the CIA, MI6, maybe Mossad?”

“Wow, did you really piss off people in all those countries?” Chuck asked with his eyebrows raised.

“Maybe,” the dark haired man smiled, “but that’s something I’m not going to talk about with you no matter how much of a good old boy you’re trying to be."

“Look, can I just sit down?” Chuck asked. “I guess next to you on the cot since the floor looks pretty hard, being as how it’s cement and all.”

The man shrugged nonchalantly yet again. “Mi casa is su casa,” he smirked, and Chuck wondered how the prisoner could act so blasé and get the upper hand before they had even started any discussion.

Chuck gingerly lowered his tall frame down onto the cot after the man he was supposed to be interrogating moved over a bit to make room. “I’ll start. My name is Chuck, and I know your name isn’t Nick and it isn’t Bryce. So what should I call you?”

“Chuck—do people really name their sons Chuck?” came the clipped response.

“If you really want to know, my name is Charles, but I go by Chuck. I think it’s an okay name,” a novice spy replied.

“Okay, _Chuck_ , tell me why it’s so hard for you to believe that my name isn’t Nick, short for Nicholas?” the prisoner asked.

“I think you’ve had a lot of names over the years, probably aliases, but I think the one that suits you best is Neal,” Chuck said, relying on the last moniker the Intersect had provided.

The prisoner was good, not batting an eye after that revelation. Chuck was beginning to doubt himself. Maybe his neural intel had been wrong or he had misinterpreted it. He sat quietly beside this puzzle of a man and tried not to fidget. Finally, it was the prisoner who broke the silence.

“So, this ‘Bryce’ person must have been pretty important. Was he like a nefariously evil character or a really valuable dude who has mysteriously gone missing?”

Chuck shrugged. “I guess it depends on who you ask.”

“Well, I’m asking you,” the prisoner said quietly.

Chuck turned so that his brown eyes met blue ones. “Once upon a time, Bryce Larkin was my best friend. Actually, he was my roommate in college. Then he did something that I could never wrap my head around and I thought he ruined my life.”

“So, you have a vendetta to settle?” the dark haired man asked.

“No, not really,” Chuck admitted. “I would just like to know why he did what he did. The not knowing is the hard part. And as for ruining my life, I shouldn’t dump all that on him. Maybe that’s on me because I used it as an excuse not to move forward. Maybe it’s become a pattern for me to stay where it’s safe and not take chances.”

“I take it that I look like this Bryce,” the prisoner stated the obvious.

“Man, you could be his identical twin,” Chuck blurted out.

The prisoner was thoughtful for a minute. “I’ve heard it said that everybody has a look alike—a doppelganger—somewhere in this world.”

Chuck thought of Lester and Jeff at the _Buy More_ and stifled a shiver. “I sure hope that’s not true.”

“Look, Chuck, you seem like a pretty decent guy, and obviously you have some clout or you wouldn’t be here. So, can you convince these people who are holding me against my will that I’m not this Bryce person?”

Chuck turned once again to face the prisoner. “I’m pretty low on the totem pole, Buddy. I’m not sure I can really help just by confirming that it wasn’t Bryce Larkin who stole a painting. It was you, and I don’t even know your name.”

The captive snorted. “You know a lot more than you’re letting on, my friend. You know that I’m really Neal Caffrey and you were eerily warning me about my boss, Vincent Adler. Care to share?”

Chuck took a deep breath. “Sharing means the actual exchange of information. We can start small, and I can go first, if that makes it any easier. I have a sister who raised me after my Mom vanished. Then my Dad actually left me, too, when I was just nine years old. I haven’t seen either of my parents since, and again, just like with Bryce, I want to know why. Your turn!”

Neal’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to know if I’m lying?”

Chuck shrugged. “Probably. Maybe. But why would you want to lie?”

Now Neal was the one who shrugged. “Maybe, probably, because it’s become second nature to me.”

When the silence lingered, Chuck had to fill it. “C’mon, Neal, we’re supposed to be sharing,” he begged as he moved his finger back and forth between them.

“Okay, what the hell,” Neal capitulated. “I was an only child. I wasn’t lying about that. I lost my Dad when I was three, and maybe the lying was something I learned right from the cradle. My own mother perpetrated a falsehood for my entire childhood when she told me he was dead. He wasn’t dead, Chuck. The reality was that he was a bad guy, but bad guy or not, it doesn’t change the fact that he abandoned me. Even though I finally knew why, I have a hard time forgiving him.”

“Right, because being left behind hurts,” Chuck said softly.

“So, does that tidbit of historical information fulfill the sharing thing?” Neal asked sarcastically.

“It’s a start,” Chuck agreed. “I have to admire you for moving on with your life, Neal, something I can’t seem to do. I was serious about Vincent Adler being dangerous, but then I think you’re kinda dangerous, in your own way. I think you have an agenda, but it’s going to backfire and you’ll get hurt. Someone else will be hurt as well, and that person is special to you. I kept seeing a name—Kate.”

Neal whipped his head around and grabbed Chuck by the arm. “What do you know about Kate?”

Chuck paled, now not so sure that this was a nonviolent man sitting beside him. “Um, I know that you really like her but you’re not sure you can compete with the current love interest in her life. Look, Neal, I get where you’re coming from. I like a girl named Sarah, but she seems to have given her heart to someone else in the past. That person was Bryce, and now he’s dead, so how can I compete with a dead man?”

“So this Bryce was killed and I look like him,” Neal mused out loud. “Does that equate to someone, maybe Casey, trying to kill me, too?”

“Maybe,” Chuck squeaked.

“Super,” Neal huffed out, “and in case you have any doubts, Chuck, that was a bit of sarcasm. Now, tell me how you know about Kate.”

“Her name just sorta popped into my head,” Chuck admitted, although that sounded lame, even to him.

“I don’t believe in clairvoyance, Pal,” Neal said in a low menacing tone.

“Okay, okay! Calm down, Buddy,” Chuck pleaded. “I’ll lay my cards on the table. The people I work for know a lot of stuff, so don’t shoot the messenger. They know you’re a con man and a thief and they think you stole a very valuable painting by Titian when it came into New York from Europe. That’s why they brought you here. They want that painting very badly.”

Neal suddenly looked confused. “So, this is what it’s all about—just some stupid painting? I’ve stolen a lot of masterpieces in my time, even created a few damn good forgeries of my own, so what’s so important about this particular one?”

Chuck didn’t know exactly how much he should divulge. He was really flying by the seat of his pants here. “It’s not really about the artwork, but more about the frame. There’s something embedded in it that is a danger to national security, maybe even world peace,” he pushed the envelope.

“You like using hyperbole, Chuck?” Neal snorted.

“Please don’t resort to sarcasm again,” Chuck pleaded. “I get enough of that from Casey.”

“So, whose really the alpha in this weird mismatched relationship, Chuck? Is it you or the menacing ogre?” Neal asked. “I just want to be prepared if he’s the one in charge and I’m going to get my ass handed to me in the morning.”

“I guess we each have our own strengths that we bring to the table, but since I’m here and he’s not, maybe the two of us can hammer out a deal that will keep you all in one piece, maybe even get you sprung from this lovely Motel 6.”

Neal gave Chuck a calculated look. “I’m listening.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chuck was waiting for Casey outside his door at precisely 6 am. The Major looked surprised. “I never pegged you for a morning person, Bartowski. Don’t you dweebs like to stay up all night playing X-box or PlayStation games together, just a bunch of little boys with their own version of a girlie slumber party?”

Chuck took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. “We have to liaison with the General, Casey, before you wreak any havoc on the prisoner.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, moron, 6 am here means it’s 3 am back in Burbank. Do you really want to interrupt the lady’s beauty sleep? That might not win you any brownie points or a merit badge,” the military man sneered.

“Aw, c’mon, Casey,” Chuck said with a giggle. “Nice try, but you and I both know our esteemed leader resides right here in our current time zone. In fact, I’m betting it’s just down Interstate 95 in Washington, DC.”

Casey growled but knew he couldn’t deny what he, himself, suspected. Instead, he went on the offensive. “So, what’s got you so fired up, Chuckie?”

“You’ll see,” the young Intersect replied breezily. That got him a cuff to his ear from a disgruntled colleague.

Chuck was right. When General Beckman came online, she was all put together and spiffy in her uniform with its assortment of little cloth squares adorning her chest. One day Chuck would have to ask her what each one stood for, just not today. “So, Mr. Bartowski,” the formidable woman began in a no nonsense tone, “since you called me, does that mean you’ve made some progress with the prisoner?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I think I have,” Chuck said proudly. “His name is really Neal Caffrey and he’s willing to help us out with our little problem, or maybe I should say, big problem.”

“That person is not Neal whatever,” Casey interrupted rudely. “He’s Bryce Larkin. I’m willing to bet my Purple Heart on that.”

“Major Casey, it may not be very wise to wager your hard-won accolades,” Beckman chided. “Chuck is correct. The prisoner is not former Agent Larkin. We already knew that because we ran this man’s DNA before you two ever came on the scene.”

“Begging your pardon, General, but maybe he’s a clone,” Casey insisted. “It isn’t too much of a stretch to envision the Chinese or the North Koreans having gotten that far biologically. They could have obtained some tissue from Larkin’s body and made more copies of him.”

The General sighed and tried to be patient. “Casey, all clones share the same DNA as their host, so that isn’t what you’re seeing. The prisoner is not Bryce Larkin, biologically or chromosomally. He’s simply a rare, natural doppelganger for our former agent, no more, no less. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Casey had to admit defeat, and it was hard to do it gracefully.

“General, if you knew Neal wasn’t Bryce, then why did you send me here?” Chuck asked.

“To do what you do best, Mr. Bartowski. You have a way about you that makes people open up and trust you. Since you called me, am I to assume you have made a breakthrough with our rather reluctant prisoner?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call us friends, exactly,” Chuck waffled, “but we may have come to a meeting of the minds. I made a deal with him.”

“Mr. Bartowski, you weren’t given authorization to make any deals or promises,” the General said sternly.

“I know, Ma’am, but you want that painting, or at least the frame, and he may be able to get it back for us.”

“What did you have to bargain away in the process?” Chuck’s superior asked with a scowl.

“Well, Neal claims that he had already moved the painting up the ladder to a fence. He refused to give me a name, but he says if we release him, it’s possible he can get it back.” Chuck then held his breath for Beckman’s reaction.

“So, let me get this straight,” the woman said with a scowl. “Neal Caffrey, a known con man and liar, wants us to just let him go so that he can gad about with only his word that he’s going to retrieve what we desperately need?”

“Pretty much,” Chuck grimaced.

“Is it possible that this man has conned you, Chuck?” Beckman asked with her eyebrows raised haughtily.

“Of course, General, he could be playing me, and maybe I’m gullible, but I believe he’ll do the right thing,” Chuck ended weakly.

The woman sighed theatrically. “I suppose we can work something out, but he’s not going to go swanning about without some kind of tether. Major Casey, our facilities in New York can provide you with a subcutaneous tracker. Make sure to implant it before our only hope waltzes out the door.”

“On it, Ma’am,” Casey growled.

“And you, Chuck, make it a priority to maintain a connection with this Caffrey person,” she added as an afterthought.

“Right, sure, I can do that,” Chuck suddenly felt relieved.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Chuck and Casey left the com center, the military man muttered, “Sure hope you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew, moron. You ain’t no James Bond, you know.”

“Nope, I’m not, but Neal is,” Chuck answered mysteriously, causing Casey to snort in derision.

Later, after breakfast, Casey was provided with what he needed to carry out his orders. Chuck tagged along as they made their way to that hidden-away dungeon. Both men stepped inside and Neal seemed a bit surprised. “Back so soon, Chuck? And lucky me, you managed to bring along King Kong with you.”

As Casey scowled and moved forward, Chuck caught his arm. “Remember, Casey, you’re supposed to play nice. Neal is working _with_ us now, not against us.”

“We’ll see about that,” the big man grumbled. Ignoring Chuck’s admonition, Casey grabbed the captive by the arm and yanked up his sleeve. When Neal saw what appeared to be a really big needle with a really long plunger attached, he began to struggle.

“It’s okay, Neal,” Chuck hastened to reassure the dark haired man. “It’s all part of the deal. My superior is willing to let you go, but she needs to know where you are going. I guess she’s not completely on board with the trust thing. Casey is going to embed a tracking device in your arm. I think it’ll be removed or deactivated or something after you get the painting back and our covert operation is over.”

“You think?” Neal said sarcastically. “I can’t buy into that, and maybe you don’t have as much clout as I thought, Chuck. FYI, I don’t intend to be somebody’s wandering Cocker Spaniel with an identifying chip in me. Our deal just fell through!”

“Look, ass wipe, we can do this the easy way or the hard way—your choice, and I’m copacetic with either,” Casey smiled maliciously.

“C’mon, Neal, it’s just for a little while, and I’ll be your wingman through the whole mission,” Chuck whined. “To give you an incentive, maybe I can convince the powers that be to let you keep the Titian painting. Remember what we talked about earlier?”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Did you blab everything to a civilian, numbnuts? And just so you know, you’re not authorized to make any deals on your own.”

“I made one just this morning with the General,” Chuck bragged, “so how do you like them apples, Buddy?”

Casey was mimicking an angry Pit Bull, snarling and almost snapping, as he grabbed Neal’s arm once more. Before the con man could react, the covert little payload was on its way into the muscle tissue of a trapped extremity.

Casey was smug after the deed was done, “And, just so you know, Mr. Imposter, that little sucker in your body is accurate down to 12 inches, and if you’re not with the program and decide to take a runner, I have this on me at all times.” The military man then held up a small square box with an LCD screen and a red button. “If I decide to push this button, a lethal toxin will immediately be expelled from the tracker into your body. I’m told that will give you about three minutes to get right with God before you meet the big guy face to face.”

“Now isn’t that special!” Neal glowered in anger.

“Not as special as this,” Casey smirked as he slugged the con man hard causing him to fall back on the cot in a state of unconsciousness.

Chuck gasped. “Casey, you have definite anger management issues and you really should see somebody about it. Why’d you have to do that?”

“Because we don’t want a possible unfriendly civilian to know where our New York headquarters is located, Chuckie boy. Thanks to you and your deals, we have to move him out. Totally unaware works better for me than a blindfold. Why don’t you use that special brain of yours to suggest where we should go since the two of you are going to be joined at the hip for a while?”

Chuck decided to get his revenge by suggesting an upscale hotel in Manhattan. “I’ve always dreamed of visiting the Waldorf Astoria. It has a famous history and it’s near Central Park, another place I’ve wanted to visit.”

“We’re not here for the creature comforts or a Greyline Tour, moron. We’ve got a job to do, so stay focused on the endgame,” Casey grumbled.

“Excuse me, Buddy, but I think _I’ve_ got a job to do. You’re just my backup if I need it. Maybe in the meantime, you can moonlight as a hotel bellhop or something,” Chuck got in the last word and it felt really good.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal awoke with a blinding headache, and the sunlight streaming through glass windows was hurting his eyes. When he realized that he was no longer chained to a hard cot, but instead, was lying on a soft mattress is a rather spacious room, he was confused. Maybe everything that seemed to have happened to him recently was just a really vivid nightmare. However, when he looked around and saw another tall familiar figure stretched out and asleep on the adjacent bed, it became very real. Somehow his mysterious abductors had managed to transport him, undetected, to a place that might be a hotel. Neal knew that it was doable because the con man/thief knew lots of clandestine ways to sneak into hotels and had performed that same feat quite often in the past.

Now fully aware, Neal had to decide what to do. The first order of business was to take care of business in the bathroom. Even though his captors had withheld fluids during his brief incarceration, a body still performed as it had been programmed to do. Neal flushed the toilet a few seconds later not caring if he awakened his new keeper. Then he washed his hands and threw water on his face, massaging a bruise blooming on his chin under the stubble. That Casey dude was one mean troll. When he stepped from the bathroom, Chuck was sitting up rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, Neal,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You okay?”

“That’s a relative question,” the con man said with a bit of pique. Holding up his left forearm, he asked his own question. “Was that Casey creep kidding about me having a lethal time bomb inside me?”

Chuck grimaced. “In all the time I’ve known him, Casey has never cracked a joke, not even a pun, although he is big on irony and cynicism.”

“Well, can you at least get that dangerous detonator out of his hot little hands? I wouldn’t want him to get an itchy trigger finger,” Neal said with a grimace.

“Seriously, Neal? Do you actually think I can do that. I’m really big on self-preservation and that would be a kamikaze move,” Chuck said firmly.

“That’s just wonderful, Buddy. I feel like one of those little ducks in a shooting gallery just waiting for a bullet to take me out,” Neal groused.

“Look, Neal, Casey will only be breathing down your neck virtually. I’ll be the actual person right by your side, not him. Maybe I’m not very brave, but I swear I’m very peace-loving and usually calm,” Chuck vowed.

“Fine, as if I have a choice,” Neal remarked as he shook his head back and forth in frustration. “If we want to move forward with this new caper then I’m going to need a phone.”

Chuck rummaged in the pocket of his jacket and produced a burner with a flourish. “This is all yours and I’ve programmed my cell number in under speed dial #1.”

“I suppose the ‘spooks’ have this monitored as well,” Neal said as he looked at the offering skeptically.

“They did,” Chuck said with a mischievous grin, “but I’m a tech guy so I took the liberty of removing the bug.”

“Maybe you’re an okay guy after all,” Neal replied with his own grin. “Now I’m going down to find something to eat in this place, and then I’ll step outside wherever we are to have a private conversation.”

“This place is actually the Waldorf Astoria, located smack dab in the heart of fabulous Manhattan,” Chuck said proudly. “Stick with me, Buddy, and we’ll travel in the style to which I wish I was accustomed.”

“Yeah, like I said, maybe you’re an okay guy,” Neal agreed.


	4. Chapter 4

Neal could envision Mozzie’s dumfounded expression as they talked on the phone. “People are always snidely insulting to me when I talk about government conspiracies, and now you’ve managed to get yourself right into the thick of one, mon frère. That makes me feel vindicated.”

“Yeah, and it makes me feel twitchy and I need to get myself out of it,” Neal said earnestly. “That entails retrieving the Titian painting. Where did you offload it, Moz?”

“Why, I passed it on to Hale, of course,” Mozzie answered quickly. “He’s got connections to people with deep pockets, so if he finds the right buyer, we’ll still be sitting pretty even after he takes his cut.”

“Well, set up another meet with him before that happens and it complicates things,” Neal instructed. “I need that painting back as soon as possible! By the way, I’m presently staying in a suite at the Waldorf, so can you gather up some of my clothes and bring them to the hotel? Just leave them with the concierge.”

“You’re at a five star hotel on Uncle Sam’s dime? I salute you, Sir, but I’m still a bit perplexed. Why do you want to continue with this game when you know you can easily end it?”

“It’s a stopgap measure, Moz, to keep you safe, and Kate, too,” Neal answered quite seriously. “I need to buy some time.”

Mozzie sighed. “It’s always about the ‘girl,’ isn’t it! You have to stop tilting at windmills, my young friend.”

When Neal remained stubbornly silent, Mozzie threw in the towel. “Okay, let me see what I can do about your problem.”

Neal finally settled down to have breakfast before returning to the room he and Chuck shared. Since he was not in possession of a key card, charging the meal to the suite had been a bit tricky until Casey meandered over dressed as a head waiter with a towel draped across his arm. “It’s been taken care of by someone special,” he informed the young waitress with a wink and a leer.

“You can’t rattle my cage by insinuating I’m somebody’s rent boy paid for by the hour,” Neal told the hovering man in disgust.

“Aw, c’mon, Pretty Face, I know your type. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t been somebody’s boy toy at one time or another,” Casey said nastily.

Neal didn’t bother to respond. He simply pushed in his chair and traveled to the elevators. When he knocked on the door of the suite, Chuck met him with a warm smile and he reminded Neal of a rambunctious but lovable puppy. He also noticed that the Cartoon Network was playing on the television screen, so the con man heaved a sigh and went into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. When he came out into the room in a hotel bathrobe, Chuck was carefully hanging up Neal’s suits and shirts in the spacious closet. “A little bald concierge with thick glasses brought these by. I hope I tipped him enough,” the young nerd fretted.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Chuck,” Neal reassured him as he sat down in an overstuffed chair to read a copy of the _New York Times_ that had also been delivered to the suite as a perk for big spenders. The alert con man turned to the “Arts and Entertainment” section extoling an upcoming showing of Botticelli works at the MoMA. As expected, he discovered that certain letters of the alphabet were circled amidst the body of the text. Neal knew Mozzie was particularly partial to using the Vigenère cipher to encode messages. It took him a bit of time to uncover the clues, and he was somewhat disheartened by Mozzie’s communication. Apparently, Hale had passed the Titian painting onto Alex Hunter, and she was on her way to a little Greek island in the Aegean to complete a transaction with a reclusive but wealthy buyer.

“Things have gotten complicated, Chuck,” Neal informed his roommate. “Our pigeon has flown the coop and is winging its way across the Atlantic to Greece, as we speak.”

Chuck looked nonplused for only a second before rebounding. “Well, okay, I guess. At least you know where it’s going so we can go after it. Think of all the air mile points we can rack up,” he chirped.

“Dude, are you always this Pollyanna glass half-full kind of guy?” Neal asked in amazement.

Chuck smiled. “Yeah, I’m usually pretty much upbeat, except when it comes to women, if I’m being honest. Then all bets are off, but hope springs eternal, nonetheless.”

“Okay, Mr. Wannabe Casanova, I’ll leave it to you and your friends to get me a passport and an airline ticket,” Neal said with a determined look.

“You mean get _us_ passports and airline tickets,” Chuck corrected.

“Whatever floats your boat, Pal,” Neal muttered.

~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, a long black limo drove up to the hotel. The driver got out to place Neal and Chuck’s single pieces of luggage into the rear of the vehicle with quiet efficiency. After the two departing guests settled into the plush passenger seats, the glass partition descended and Neal saw Casey’s face staring at them in the rear view mirror. “Ladies, buckle up. It’s the law, you know.”

Neal swore under his breath. “That weird menace is like jock itch or foot fungus. He keeps cropping up when you least expect it and is irritating as hell.”

“Well, he can be very useful if it gets sticky and people try to shoot us,” Chuck said in Casey’s defense.

When the limo arrived at JFK, it drove to a little private runway where a small Lear jet was revving its engines. “Well, I guess that takes pretty air hostesses and frequent flyer miles out of the equation,” Chuck said sadly.

“I just hope they feed us,” Casey grumbled. “An army moves on its stomach, you know.”

Neal just shook his head and heaved a sigh. How had his life been reduced to this?

~~~~~~~~~~

The flight to Athens was long but uneventful, if you discounted Casey’s attempt at intimidation. He maintained a foreboding stare in Neal’s direction as he kept turning that little box with its red button over and over in his hand. Neal finally blocked out the sight by closing his eyes and feigning sleep. What he was really doing was mentally reviewing how he could charm Alex Hunter out of her possession. The attractive young woman had a very accurate bullshit meter, and conning her was going to be hard. They had a history, one that caused Neal a bit of shame. He had once left Alex in the lurch, and after it had all gone down in Copenhagen, Neal had felt like a despicable cad. The thief/con artist wondered how forgiving Alex might be. If she was aware that Neal was between a rock and a hard place, she may not be so cooperative. Payback could be a bitch.

When the small, fast jet touched down and screeched along the runway in Greece, Chuck suddenly became animated. “Wow, we’ve arrived in the actual place where the birth of democracy began,” he marveled. “Maybe, if we wrap this up quickly, we can visit some stuff like the Parthenon and the Acropolis!”

Casey grunted. “We’re not here for sightseeing, imbecile, so get with the program!”

“Don’t you ever get fed up with the tough guy’s insults?” Neal asked Chuck quietly.

“Sure I do, but, unfortunately, he comes with the territory,” Chuck answered softly. “Do you really think I’m a wuss, Neal?”

“I think you’re a guy with the patience of a saint,” Neal said as he quirked a smile.

“Yeah, well that’s not exactly a ringing endorsement about my character,” the nerd sighed.

“Aw, c’mon, my friend. Maybe the world needs more saints to balance out sinners like me,” Neal quipped.

As the trio descended the short set of stairs from the aircraft, Neal turned to Casey on the tarmac. “Why don’t you make yourself useful, big guy, and go find us accommodations in the city. Chuck’s my main man and we have important business to attend to and you’ll just be a fifth wheel.”

“You wish!” Casey snarled. “Where you go, I go, so I’ll always be watching.”

“Maybe you meant to say ‘lurking,’ like some kind of feral tomcat. Athens is full of them,” Neal snarked.

Chuck spoiled the moment when he groaned, “Oh, no, I’m allergic to cats!”

Neal and Casey rolled their eyes in tandem, and then hailed a taxi. Eventually, Neal and Chuck were seated at an outdoor café while their watchdog snagged another table close by. A steady stream of felines were weaving between the tables looking for food scraps, and Chuck used a tissue to contain his sneezes. However, Neal knew the minute Alex Hunter arrived because Chuck’s eyes suddenly widened. “Wow, that’s one beautiful lady,” he nasally murmured in awe. When that vision took a chair at their table, the nerd was rendered speechless.

“Neal Caffrey,” Alex purred with her eyes narrowed. “Hale said you might be paying me a visit.”

“Alex, nice to see you again,” Neal said softly.

“Really? Caffrey, your charm stopped working on me a long time ago,” Alex said petulantly as she pulled up her sleeve and displayed the small scar on her forearm. “This is a reminder of what a weasel you can be.”

“That definitely wasn’t my finest hour, and I’m sorry, very sorry,” Neal said earnestly as he looked into her eyes.

“Nice try with the baby blues, but I’m immune,” Alex simpered. “Who’s your new sidekick?” she then asked as she glanced curiously at Chuck whose head was swiveling back and forth taking in the banter.

“The identity of my associate is not your concern,” Neal replied.

“Oh, going for mysterious, are we?” Alex mocked. “Well, I must say that he’s an improvement over your usual annoying little cohort.”

“Alex, let’s cut to the chase,” Neal insisted when he tired of the snarking. “Hale passed you an item and this gentleman beside me is particularly partial to Venetian painters. So, I found my own buyer, brought him along for the ride, and he’s willing to pay a hefty price to appease his thirst for Renaissance art.”

The female fence cocked her head coquettishly. “Is that so? Well, Sweetie, you two are a little late to the party. Those who snooze, lose. I’ve already sealed a deal, so, unfortunately, your cut of the profits has been reduced a bit,” she said smugly.

Neal heaved a sigh. “Are you being straight with me, Alex, or are you just enjoying yanking my chain?”

The young woman shrugged. “Maybe I’m extracting my own pound of flesh, or maybe I’m telling you a truth that you don’t want to hear.”

“How about being more informative and telling me if you still have the painting or not. Like I said, we can make it worth your while,” Neal urged.

“You’re such a party pooper, Neal,” Alex pouted. “When did you get to be such an old stick in the mud? But, for your information, I really did complete a transaction yesterday and that particular item is now in the collection of another admirer.”

Neal sighed inwardly. Just for once, why couldn’t things go his way without all the drama? He had risked life and limb to steal that Titian painting from Customs at the airport, and that bit of skillful maneuvering got him abducted and terrorized in some government black hole with brutes like Casey, drooling and just waiting to kill him.

“Alex, I have a proposal for you,” Neal said as he resurrected a smile. “How about this. You don’t have to take a three-way cut of the profits from that sale. I’ll give you my percentage, so it will be just you and Hale in on the deal. That only happens if you’ll provide the name of your buyer.”

“Neal, I know you,” the contrary lady simpered. “You have some iron in the fire, and I don’t want to get burned.”

Neal held up his hands in supplication. “Trust me, you don’t want to know about this or you could get burned. It may put your life in danger, and although you may not believe me, I do have a soft spot for you in my heart.”

“Wow, the great Neal Caffrey groveling. I never saw that coming,” Alex seemed puzzled because this was a first.

When she kept silent, Neal ramped things up a bit. “Alex, I need that painting because if I don’t get it back, my life’s in danger. If you ever entertained even the tiniest bit of affection for me, please help me out.”

“Your life’s in danger?” the confused woman echoed. “Surely not from this milquetoast sitting beside you with the watery eyes and the runny nose.”

“Hey, I could be dangerous!” Chuck objected because he felt insulted, but then the unexpected sneeze ruined his tough guy persona.

“Alex, I’m serious,” Neal pushed, and Alex found herself wavering and almost becoming a believer. She did, indeed, still carry a flame in her heart for a handsome, ne'er-do-well con man. They could have made a great team. Neal was easy on the eyes, very good in bed, and a spectacular thief, slinking into locked rooms and parkouring down vertical walls with various prizes tucked under his arm. The only snag was that troublesome trust thing. But then her softer self warned her that this plea could be the real deal—an honest appeal for her help. Maybe Caffrey’s luck had run out because he had colored too far outside the lines and pissed off the wrong people.

Finally, Alex put her own credo about self-preservation aside and decided, just this one time, to bail out a former lover. “The truth is I handed over the Titian to a courier, who examined it quite thoroughly for authenticity before a wire transaction for an obscene amount of Euros took place. Then he took possession of it. I’m assuming it’s now in the buyer’s hands.”

“C’mon, Alex, you don’t take blind risks,” Neal said wisely. “You found out who the interested party was and vetted him before you ever allowed that painting out of your hands. So, who did the courier work for?”

“Ah, Sweetie, you know me too well,” Alex smiled. “The ultimate recipient was this old xenophobic gentleman named Stavros Eliopolis, so ungodly rich that he owns his own island. And don’t ask me the name of it. Even after I did all my digging, I couldn’t unearth where it’s located.”

Neal breathed a sigh of relief. “I may have some resources who could dredge down even deeper to find that island. Alex, you don’t know what this means to me. Thank you.”

“Does this have anything to do with that skirt you’re currently chasing—Kate, something or other?” Alex asked with narrowed eyes.

Neal smiled. “Right now, you’re the most important woman in my life.”

Alex snorted as she rose from the chair to leave. “You just received your one and only favor from me, Neal—for old time’s sake. Don’t come sniffing around again.” Then Alex turned her gaze to Chuck. “You’re kinda cute, beanpole, but you need to lose the sideburns if you want to be taken seriously. They’re so yesterday!”


	5. Chapter 5

The afternoon found the American visitors in a hotel room in the city. Chuck had sent General Beckman the name, Eliopolis, a bit earlier, and a response was now waiting in his message box. Casey stood up and gave Neal a glare. “Stay put!” he grunted as he pantomimed pushing his thumb down on an imaginary red button. Neal returned the gesture by raising the middle finger of his own hand. Chuck missed the silent byplay between the two because he was headed into the bathroom to facetime with Beckman on his phone. Casey stood right behind the Intersect’s shoulder during the communication.

“Stavros Eliopolis is one strange bird,” the General began the briefing. “We’ve found out that he acquired his wealth through a shipping conglomerate with no apparent ties to crime syndicates or international political malcontents, and he retired years ago an extremely wealthy man. He values his privacy and seems to have become quite eccentric and paranoid with a number of phobias. He bought his own little speck of rock in the middle of the Aegean which is almost hermetically sealed because of his fear of germs. He puts old Howard Hughes to shame with his odd behavior.”

“So, we can’t exactly sail over to his little hideaway with a bottle of ouzo and say ‘Howdy, neighbor,’” Chuck reasoned.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Bartowski, because arriving by boat is not an option. We’ve looked up the coordinates for what appears to be a small fortress that sits on a rocky promontory. There is no harbor or beach availability around the entire perimeter. The only way on or off that islet is by helicopter. Even if you did drop in uninvited by air, your reception committee would not be very welcoming. Eliopolis has an armed force of Greek soldiers on his payroll and they take his request for privacy very seriously.”

“So, what do you suggest, General?” Casey wanted to know. “If you provide some air support, a trained commando team and I could parachute in under the cover of darkness, breach the joint, and take what we need with only a few casualties.”

“No, Major Casey, that would cause too much attention,” Beckman said with a frown. “I suggest a more clandestine approach. Our research on Neal Caffrey has shown that he does the impossible, so just get him onto that island and retrieve that microdot from the frame. If the painting remains right where it is, no one will be the wiser and we can avoid the headlines of an international incident.”

“And if our mission is successful, what do I do with Pretty Boy after his value to us is over? Maybe I should eliminate loose ends to keep everything buttoned down,” Casey said, almost licking his chops in anticipation.

“No!” Chuck quickly replied. “General, Neal is an okay guy. We can trust him to get the job done and to keep quiet about it. I didn’t think we killed people who weren’t evil and malicious.”

“We’ll see how it goes and we can reevaluate the situation later,” the General said succinctly as her image disappeared from Chuck’s phone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal had heard a muffled conversation taking place behind a closed bathroom door. He didn’t have the inclination to eavesdrop on any more cloak and dagger stuff so he simply waited for his two jailers to emerge. When they did, both seemed tense and in the middle of an argument.

“Casey, if you go rogue and do what you want to do, I swear I’ll tell Jeff at the _Buy More_ that you have a secret crush on him and crave his body,” Chuck threatened.

When Casey gave Chuck a quelling look of pure evil, Neal had to ask, “Who’s Jeff?”

“Oh, Buddy, you really don’t want to know,” Chuck’s smirk was accompanied by a shiver.

When Casey finishing grinding his teeth, he stood before Neal, hands on his hips. “Okay, Tool, tell me if you know your way around a wet suit and scuba diving equipment. Where we need to go only has access by sea.”

Neal shrugged. “I may have done a bit of diving in the Caymans. Is Chuck going to accompany us on this little adventure? I don’t think I want to go anywhere with you, Godzilla, unless he’s along for the ride. I’m embarrassed to say this, but I think he’s the only one protecting me from you.”

Chuck looked startled. “Ah, I think I left my flippers and wet suit back home at the cleaners.”

“Seriously, Dude? You live in California by the ocean and you don’t go diving?” Neal seemed astounded.

“Maybe a bit of snorkeling,” the Intersect said modestly.

“That’ll work for me,” Neal nodded his head.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the dark of a moonless night, three men in wet suits slipped over the side of a rubber raft. A huge jagged piece of rock was straight ahead with just a few lights designating it as inhabited. It was slow going as Neal and Casey took turns towing Chuck along doing his feeble dogpaddle. Only the top of his snorkel rose above the surface of the sea like a tiny periscope. After what seemed like an eternity, the trio were able to cautiously climb the slippery rocks surrounding the fortress and take a breather.

Neal was the first to speak. “According to the schematics you showed me, there seems to be a sort of great room in the center of this citadel, so I think that’s where I’ll look first. Since it’s elevated high above ground level, I’ll have to do some climbing to get in,” he explained as he pulled out a coil of nylon rope and a few grappling hooks and pitons from the waterproof satchel on his shoulder.

“You mean when ‘we’ climb up and gain access,” Casey said arrogantly. “I’m going to be on you like white on rice the whole time. Besides, you don’t even know what we’re really after.”

“Well, since I’ll be doing the heavy lifting, be a pal and loop me in,” Neal said sarcastically as he shed his flippers and wet suit to reveal a black outfit perfect for a cat burglar.

“Need to know basis,” Casey said vehemently, “and you don’t need to know. Just do what you’re told and get the friggin’ painting.”

“Well, we don’t need the whole friggin’ painting, now do we,” Neal said smugly. “Chuck told me all we need is some little microdot embedded in the frame.”

Casey whirled on Chuck. “Bartowski, I swear, you’re a lost cause. You ought to have your lips sewn together so you don’t keep flapping them in the breeze,” a now angry military man seethed. Then he turned to Neal to resume his wrath. “And you, Tool, are just making me pissed off enough to kill you when this is all over.”

Chuck looked appalled. “In that case, I’m tagging along to keep things civil.”

“And how are you planning on doing that?” Casey taunted. “Oh, I know. Here’s an innovative little idea. Maybe we can put suction cups on those flippers of yours so you can frog march yourself up the side of the building.”

Chuck looked from Casey to Neal, his expression anxious and worried. “Please, Casey, don’t hurt Neal. The General never gave you the okay to eliminate somebody whose helping us. What Neal’s planning on doing practically makes him a patriot like you. I’ll bet he was a fan of old Ronald Reagan back in the day.”

“Nice try, Chuck, but your new best bud was probably still in diapers when Reagan was the leader of the free world,” Casey argued.

“Are you two going to keep bickering like old ladies all night?” Neal said in disgust. “I can take care of myself, Chuck—been doing it for years. Now, we’re going to lose the advantage of darkness if we don’t get a move on.”

Casey gave Neal a nasty look, but complied by bending down to take the parts of a unique kind of long rifle from his knapsack and begin assembling the parts. When it was intact, he took careful aim and, with sniper accuracy, fired steel pitons in a zigzagging pattern up the side of the sheer face of the fortress. Neal was just as skillful as he tossed the weighted rope high above his head where it snagged onto the first one.

“Chuck, you stay here!” Casey commanded. Then he turned to the sneak thief beside him. “After you, Sweet Cheeks!”

Neal was lithe and agile, so the climb was a piece of cake for an experienced cat burglar. Casey, hefting his solid muscle mass, was a bit slower but he was determinedly keeping up. When the two climbers reached a panoramic plate glass window facing the sea, Neal peered in and saw soaring whitewashed walls peppered with a multitude of framed artwork, all probably worth a king’s ransom.

“This window is most likely wired with sensors,” Neal whispered to Casey. “But that skylight high up in the ceiling might work for us. Most people would just assume that nobody in their right mind would try getting in through something that narrow.”

Casey looked up where Neal was pointing. “Yeah, that opening is really small. I couldn’t even get my shoulders to fit through it.”

“That’s because you’ve got the physique of Shrek the Ogre,” Neal snorted. “Since I’m not grotesquely bulked up on steroids, I can manage it, no sweat.”

“I do not take steroids!” Casey objected heatedly.

“Is that a fact?” Neal taunted. “I gotta say that sometimes your behavior looked like a bit of ‘roid rage to me.”

“If you weren’t necessary for this operation, I’d squash you like a bug,” Casey growled.

“Right, you need me,” Neal agreed. “Now let’s climb a bit higher to the summit so I can get the job done and get you out of my face.”

Once on the roof, Neal used other tools in his work bag after he didn’t detect any hidden wires or sensors with his penlight. A glass cutter and a large suction clamp later, the skylight opened like a clamshell. Using a small but strong steel winch that fed line out to the rope around Neal’s waist, Casey lowered the con man down onto the floor of the magnificent gallery. Neal’s nemesis then stared after him with an eagle eye as the art thief strolled around the space like a shopaholic housewife in a Macy’s Department Store.

“Get a move on, Caffrey!” Casey hissed.

Finally, Neal stopped and chose a painting in a Baroque frame. He carefully lifted it from its perch on the wall, and using his penlight, began examining the frame, inch by inch.

“We don’t have time for that, moron!” Casey whispered from above. “In case you don’t know, a microdot is barely a millimeter in circumference. Just bring the whole damn painting up with you.”

Before Neal could argue, the rope stretched tight around his middle and he was being hoisted aloft. Mid-ascent, the door to the salon suddenly creaked open and an armed man in a uniform strolled in. When he spotted an intruder dangling above his head, he immediately drew his gun. Neal expected to feel a bullet pass through his exposed body, but instead, the menacing danger suddenly crumpled to the floor with a thud. When Neal let out his breath and looked up, Casey had a smug grin in place. “Tranq dart,” he said as he held up his own pistol.

“Thanks,” Neal muttered, now a bit worried that Casey might ultimately use that weapon on him. Once the young thief was again safely on the roof, Casey looked at the painting in the dark. “Can’t see why this is so special,” he grumbled. “Give me a Bob Ross landscape painting any day of the week. Now that’s real art to me.”

When Neal looked puzzled, Casey sighed impatiently. “C’mon, man, don’t you know who Bob Ross was? He was the frizzy-haired guy who appeared on PBS and created those happy little trees and babbling, cheerful brooks in just an hour’s time.”

“I guess I missed that cultural extravaganza,” Neal mumbled.

Casey looked thoughtful and then took it upon himself to make an executive decision. “Since we only need the frame, let’s lighten the load ‘cause toting this whole thing around is going to be unwieldly.”

Before Neal could object, Casey had put his knee through the center of the painting causing it to separate from the frame, momentarily flap like a fish out of water, and then slide off the pitched roof. Neal gazed in horror as the Renaissance masterpiece disappeared into the night. When he turned back to Casey, openmouthed, the NSA man had placed the now empty frame over his head where it rested on his shoulders, leaving his hands unencumbered.”

“Now there’s a real scary picture!” was all Neal managed to say.

“What? It’s all we need and now it’s easier to carry,” Casey shrugged.


	6. Chapter 6

Chuck was sitting on the rocks below and waiting for Neal and Casey. He whiled away the tense minutes juggling small stones, and he had managed to get three in motion, all taking turns passing through his hands and being tossed aloft. Chuck hated being left on the sidelines. It was always, _“Chuck, wait in the car,”_ or _“Chuck, wait in Castle,”_ or at home or at the _Buy More_. Neal might have felt like a dog on a leash with his implanted tracker, but Chuck felt like having the Intersect in his brain kept him on a tether as well. He had skills, even though he was just learning to access and utilize them. General Beckman thought that his emotions got in the way so he couldn’t always be depended upon to perform in a timely manner. Chuck believed he could train himself to utilize his talents, but it may take a bit of practice.

Before he got to four stones in his juggling act, Chuck saw Neal and Casey come sliding down to the ground just a few feet away. Casey looked ridiculous with a fussy gold frame around his neck. “Is that it?” Chuck asked in confusion.

“Yep, mission accomplished,” Casey crowed. “Now for a few minor adjustments so it fits into my waterproof bag,” he added as he bent the delicate frame over his knee and applied a bit of force so that the corners easily separated where they had been mitered and joined. With little effort, he then had four pieces of ornate gold leafed wood in his meaty hands.

Neal sighed dramatically. “Casey, you’re such a barbarian with absolutely no regard for pieces of antiquity. I’ll bet in another incarnation, you helped Julius Caesar burn the great library of Alexandria,” he continued to mock.

Before Casey could respond, his attention became riveted on something behind Neal’s back. Two fatigue-clad men had rounded a corner with rifles at the ready. The NSA operative pulled out his tranq gun once more, fired off two quick bursts, but this time, the darts bounced off the men’s body armor allowing them to keep advancing. Neal had turned toward the danger and immediately raised his hands in the air, but it didn’t seem to matter to the two sentries with slaughter on their minds.

Chuck remained frozen in fear for a few seconds before experiencing that swirling wave of images that tended to make him feel nauseous. He and his team were in trouble, so he knew what he had to do. The flash had temporarily provided him with the agility and grace of a ninja, and Chuck’s body was suddenly whirling in the air with a well-directed foot dislodging dangerous weapons and quick slicing hands making contact with exposed, vulnerable necks. The guards seemed blindsided, but they were outmatched by a determined martial arts warrior protecting his friends. It was over quickly with two men down on the ground sucking sand.

Neal stood transfixed with his mouth hanging open until he finally managed to say in an astounded tone, “Chuck, my man, you’ve got some serious skills going on.”

Casey was not exactly as impressed as Neal. “Nice job, Bartowski. You finally managed to put on your big boy pants.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Later the next day, two spies and a con man were walking across the tarmac of an Athens airport towards a private jet. Chuck was loping along in a t-shirt with a _Dungeons and Dragons_ cartoon on his chest. Casey wore a tan polo and khaki cargo pants, while Neal looked quite spiffy in a white shirt, grey slacks, and navy blazer. Their luggage had preceded them and was already on board, but Casey insisted on personally carrying a canvas bag with four lengths of wood containing a valuable payload nestled inside. For good measure, he had duct taped all the pieces together.

Just as they neared the set of stairs to climb aboard, Neal glanced to his right and saw a crowd of travelers, apparently just disembarking from a United Airlines jumbo jet. They were all clustered together like a flock of birds, and most were middle-aged or older in sturdy walking shoes, sun visors, and clutching satchels displaying a well-known American travel company’s logo. They kept looking around in confusion, lost and awaiting direction. Chuck had already started to board their own ride, and before Casey could react, Neal peeled off and trotted over to the new arrivals.

_“Welcome, welcome, my friends!"_ the con man sang out with his arms flung wide. “My name is Nicholas, and I am your tour guide. I’m so sorry I was not here sooner. Unfortunately, I was misinformed about your gate number. But, now we are all together, so your fantastic adventure in this fabulous city founded in ancient times can commence. By the end of the day, you shall be old friends with the likes of Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle!”

Casey was staring at his slippery prisoner and knew he couldn’t boldly shoot him in front of a crowd of witnesses. Instead, the agent shoved his hand into his pants pocket to grab the little square box with the red button. There was more than one way to kill an annoying nuisance! When he couldn’t seem to locate the lethal gadget, he tried his other pocket with the same result. When Casey chanced a glance toward his nemesis, Neal was grinning and holding up the small apparatus. Then he cocked his fingers like a gun and fired an imaginary bullet at a very angry man before turning away to shepherd his flock of chicks into the airport.

~~~~~~~~~~

At the end of a very long day as a patient and fawning tour guide, Neal paid Alex a visit. He actually slithered in through an open patio door of her seaside villa and joined her, uninvited, in her bed. “Caffrey, twice in just two days. That could make a girl hopeful,” a wide awake Alex murmured as she slowly moved her small dagger away from his ribs.

“Always prepared for the unexpected, I see,” Neal grinned.

“Well, a delicate girl like me has to be careful and take precautions. I never know who may desire to ravage me on any given night,” she cooed.

“How about an old friend? Can he get past your defenses?” Neal leered as he handed her an origami flower.

“Well, for old time’s sake, I certainly hope he’ll try,” was the playful answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, a very satisfied Alex made a call to someone she knew on the island. A young man with black curly hair arrived with his small leather bag and skillfully numbed Neal’s forearm before extracting a little chip. After he left, Neal flushed the offensive lethal thing down the toilet. Then he stood on the balcony and flung a little square box and his cellphone into the sea. Alex was curious, but knew better than to ask questions. Instead, it was Neal who wanted to know, “Was your friend a doctor?”

Alex actually giggled. “No, Theo is studying to be a veterinarian. He works on small animals like rabbits, cats, dogs, and now even a cur like you.”

Neal joined in her laughter. “Well, it seemed like he knew what he was doing and I want to thank you, Alex, for getting him to help. I was serious the other day. That thing could have killed me.”

“So, did you get that painting you were after?” the young woman queried.

“Not exactly,” Neal admitted. “But it’s not a deal breaker because I already had what was needed back home in New York.”

“What to clue a girl in?” Alex quirked an eyebrow

“Maybe, with the broad strokes,” Neal agreed. “You see, it wasn’t about the painting, but more about the frame it was in. Now, you and I both know that the first thing any good art thief does when he wants to move hot merchandise like a painting is to carefully remove it from the frame so it can be tucked inside a sturdy and easily portable tube. That’s exactly what Mozzie did before he gave it to Hale, who then sent it to you. The original frame is back home with my partner in one of his safe houses.”

“But your new friends didn’t know that,” Alex surmised.

Neal grinned. “Nope, and the big oaf who went on a raid with me didn’t know his artwork from his elbow, so I could have picked dogs playing poker painted on velvet and he wouldn’t have known the difference.”

“You must have been like a kid in a candy store if you managed to get into Stavros’ fortress,” Alex smirked. “Just out of curiosity, what painting did you finally choose? I’m assuming it was one you wanted to add to your personal collection.”

Neal grimaced. “Let’s just say that a very exquisite Tintoretto may come floating up on shore one fine day.” Then the con man looked at Alex fondly, “I’ve missed you, pretty lady.”

“And now I’m probably going to be missing you—again,” she replied with a bit of melancholy in her tone. “You know, Neal, we could have been good together.”

“Darlin’, we _are_ good together,” Neal corrected, “just not for the long haul.”

“And do you think that Kate is willing to be in for the long haul?” a disappointed girl asked.

“I won’t know unless I try,” Neal shrugged helplessly.

~~~~~~~~~~

General Beckman was not a happy camper. Two embarrassed operatives were getting a verbal tongue lashing, while Sarah stood off to the side and looked worried. “The objective of your mission, gentlemen, was to retrieve a microdot from a picture frame. You managed to acquire _pieces_ of a picture frame, but _obviously_ it was not the _correct_ one! Our forensic team went over it with their magnifying lenses and found absolutely nothing!”

“Well, maybe the chatter was wrong and this microdot thing was all a hoax, a misdirection on the part of our enemies,” Casey offered meekly.

“Unlikely!” Beckman snapped. “We vetted our source and the claim had merit.”

“Does this mean we have to try again?” Chuck asked worriedly.

The General scowled. “No, Mr. Bartowski, you blew your one and only chance. I’m sincerely hoping you didn’t allow yourself to get conned by a con man, who may have outsmarted both you and Casey. If that’s what transpired, a civilian is now a loose cannon, and he has something very dangerous in his hands. He could sell it to the highest bidder, no matter what their nationality or affiliation.”

“Neal would never do something like that, General,” Chuck immediately answered although Casey looked angry enough to spit nails.

“Ma’am, do you want me to track that little weasel down again?” Casey asked with relish.

“No, Major, I want you to stand down for now. Our best people are trying to locate the man, who seems to have become a ghost that vanished in a puff of smoke. I’ll keep you apprised of any changes that might develop.”

As Chuck left Castle with a hangdog look on his face, Sarah caught up to the tall young man and said softly, “You did your best, Chuck, but not everything always turns out okay.”

“But I feel like it’s all my fault because I somehow messed up. Neal seemed like a good person and I trusted him,” Chuck whined.

“You trust people because you have a good heart, and that’s not something to be ashamed of,” the blond female spy whispered softly. “If people take advantage of you, that just means they’re the bad ones.”

“I guess,” Chuck replied before making his way back upstairs to the _Buy More_. He had so wanted to succeed in this first mission without Sarah. He wanted her to be proud of him and maybe realize that he was worth her attention as more than just a responsibility she was told to keep safe. Later that night, his sister, Ellie, sensing something was wrong after Chuck’s unexplained night away from home, tried to reinforce Sarah’s words.

“I know there’s something going on that you don’t want to talk about, little brother,” she said gently. “Maybe it’s about Sarah or maybe it’s something else, but I won’t pry. So, let me just say this. You’re a very good person, Chuck, and one day somebody will see that and make you happy.”

Unbelievably, a few days later, someone else told him the same thing. A small Fed Ex mailer had been delivered to Chuck’s door, well, really to Ellie and Devon’s door. It was addressed to Mr. Charles Bartowski, but there was no return label. When he curiously slit open the package, Chuck found it contained a small cream-colored envelope holding a piece of stationary with a brief handwritten message _:_

_“Sorry for my abrupt departure, Buddy, but goodbyes are not my strong suit. You’re a really good person, Chuck, so never change. The world needs more of you to keep it safe.”_

Then Chuck’s eyes followed a vertical line drawn down the page that ended with an arrow pointing to something below. The black ink had encircled a miniscule little speck taped in place—and Chuck fervently hoped it was the missing microdot. Chuck didn’t have time to get over his astonishment when his cell phone chirped in his pocket. The screen displayed “unknown caller” and he said “Hello?” in a tentative voice.

“Did you get it?” Neal’s voice came over the airways.

“Is it really the microdot?” Chuck asked in a hopeful tone.

“Yep, now you can save the world, my friend,” Neal said with a smile in his voice.

“Neal, you’re the real hero,” Chuck hastily replied, “so you should get the credit.”

“Oh, I don’t think the people you work for are going to be handing me any medals,” Neal laughed. “Just enjoy the spotlight while you can. And, Chuck, just a word of advice. Merely tolerating bullies doesn’t cut it, so kick Casey’s ass from time to time. You’ve definitely got the right moves to make that happen. My one regret is I’ll probably never get to see it!”

Now Chuck was laughing, but then he suddenly sobered. “Now let me give you a heads up, as well, Buddy. I know you don’t believe in clairvoyance, but just be careful around somebody named _‘Peter Burke.’_ He may not have your best interests at heart.”

Neal was silent for a few seconds. “Thanks for the tip, my friend. I’ll keep that in mind!”


End file.
